On our bodies we share the same scar
by smaragdbird
Summary: Eragon keeps dreaming of Murtagh after Murtagh has died. Set in the beginning of book 2 Slash Murtagh/Eragon which means incest


Dream of me

What is love but the strangest of feelings?

A sin you swallow for the rest of your life?

You've been looking for someone to believe in

To love you until your eyes run dry

‚Hi.'

Eragon opened his eyes and stared. Murtagh sat perched on his bed, his black clothes dry and whole and not the wet, ripped bundle they had found at the bottom of the cliff.

‚You're dead.' Murtagh gave him one of his light, awkward smiles from under his black bangs that fell in streaks into his face.

'And yet I'm here.'

'This is a dream.' Eragon argued. Murtagh stretched out his arm and put his hand on Eragon's. The hand was warm and felt like a real hand would have felt.

'Are you sure?'

'Dreams can feel real. This proves nothing.' Eragon took his hand away.

'Are you sure?' Murtagh repeated.

'When I wake up you'll be gone.'

'Yes. Yes,' Murtagh looked sad: 'You'll wake up here and I'll be gone to there.'

'Where's there?'

'Don't follow me.' Murtagh warned: 'It's not a nice place where I am.'

'But where are you?' But before he could ask again Murtagh was gone and he woke up alone.

She lives by disillusion glow

We go where the wild blood flows

On our bodies we share the same scar

Love me, wherever you are

'Hi.'

'Am I dreaming of you because I feel guilty?'

'Why should you feel guilty?'

'I send you to kill the Urgals.'

'You're my friend, not my commander. That was Ajihad. I followed him and we all died gloriously in a battle, or so you say.'

'You don't think that a warrior's death is glorious?' Eragon asked. Murtagh shook his head, that soft, sad look on his face. The same he had been wearing when Eragon had woken up after the battle in terrible pain from the wound on his back.

'I don't think any death is glorious.' Suddenly he raised his head and froze, like a deer detecting a hunter, like he was listening to some approaching danger that Eragon couldn't hear. Then he relaxed again.

'That place where you are,' Eragon took up the conversation from last night: 'Can't you escape?'

'I'm trying, but that doesn't mean I'll be able to do it.'

'I trust you to do it.'

Murtagh looked both grateful and tempted at his words but before something could happen, he was gone again.

How do you love with a fate full of rust?

How do you turn what the savage tame?

You've been looking for someone you can trust

To love you, again and again

'They're talking about sending me to the Elves' kingdom, to heal and to learn.'

'And Nasuada is just letting you go?'

'I'm of little help for her in this condition. How you can carry such a scar and be such a skilled fighter is beyond me.' Eragon confessed with a little bit of jealousy. Seeing the old scar on Murtagh's back had been one thing and experiencing what pain and agony he must have gone through, at the age of three nonetheless, another. Murtagh shrugged.

'Different than you I can't remember a life without that scar. It's my first memory, before my father or my mother or anyone else I remember lying on my stomach and feeling nothing but pain. Back then I swore myself that I would never be this helpless again, so I pushed myself way beyond any limit.' Murtagh laughed shortly: 'The way of the Elves is no doubt less painful and a lot faster.'

'I should hope so or else I'm back with the Varden when the war against Galbatorix is already won.' Eragon joked back. He woke to the image of Murtagh's smile fading the morning sunlight.

How do you love in a house without feelings?

How do you turn what the savage tame?

I've been looking for someone to believe in

Love me, again and again

'They sure like preaching.' Eragon grumbled, mostly though to hear Murtagh's clear, untainted laugh. Being with the Elves was an amazing, different experience, if a bit frustrating at times.

'They're Elves with hundreds of years of experience. Give them a little credit. If your teacher was really preaching then you would still sit there, listening to him.'

'And my swordsmanship teacher is an arrogant dick.'

'They all are. Tornac baited me until I learned to reign my feelings. A hot-headed or easily provoked fighter is a liability and a danger to those around him.'

'Now you sound like Oromis.' Murtagh laughed again and brushed his hand over Eragon's forehead. It felt colder and clammy as if he was running fever, which was ridiculous because the dead couldn't become ill.

'Have you escaped yet?' Eragon asked.

'No and it's getting less likely with every passing day.' Every night when Murtagh came he looked a bit thinner, a bit frailer.

'But you can come here, right? So why do you just don't go back there each morning.'

'It's complicated.' Murtagh hesitated: 'Being here is not the same as escaping there. And even coming here gets more and more difficult.'

'But why? What are they doing to you?' Eragon demanded, but Murtagh shook his head.

'It doesn't matter what they do. It's too late. Let's focus on the time we have.'

She lives by disillusion's glow

We go where the wild blood flows

On our bodies we share the same scar

'There's going to be a Blood Ceremony.' Eragon told Murtagh. They sat comfortably on Eragon's sleeping place and let their legs tangle together like they had done so often during their journey to the Varden.

Murtagh looked alarmed.

'When?' He asked, his whole body rigid with tension.

'Soon. Tomorrow night. Why?'

'It'll change things.' Eragon sighed exasperatedly:

'Can you for once give me a clear answer?'

'Do you remember the desert?' Murtagh asked instead. Seeing that he would not be getting any answer since Murtagh had never lost a single word over things he didn't want to talk about and had invented a whole new level of stubborn, Eragon answered:

'Of course I do.'

'Do you remember everything?' Murtagh pressed on.

'Could you be a bit more spe-' Murtagh had leaned over at this point and kissed him. Yes, Eragon remembered that too, the long, cold nights in the desert when they had huddled close together and shared what they had left to share: warmth, companionship, affection, friendship, admiration.

'Do you think it is fair of reminding me of this when you're dead?' Eragon asked in a husky voice.

'You wanted answers.' Murtagh said: 'What we did in the desert, me and you, it created a bond between us with magic from the beginning of time. After the Blood Ceremony you'll be someone else and I won't be able to use this bond anymore.'

'Never?' Eragon's voice trembled. He had lived for every night during these past months. Clinging to the ghost of his friend because despite better knowledge during the day, during the night Murtagh was real, alive and warm like he had been in the desert.

'If we meet again then we might be able to recreate the bond.'

'If? You don't think that when I die I'll get to the same place where you are?' He noticed Murtagh's barely suppressed shudder.

'I don't wish for anyone to end up where I am.'

'So this is it? We have this night and then we'll never see each other again?'

'I hope so.' Murtagh whispered and took Eragon's face in his hands: 'One last night for our atrocities, little brother.'

How do you love on a night without feelings?

She says, love, I hear sound, I see fury

She says, love's not a hostile condition

Love me, wherever you are


End file.
